Migration from other states and from foreign shores continued to swell the “Mormon” band, and this but angered the oppressors the more.  The members of the Church, recognizing the inevitable long before predicted by their murdered prophet, that the march of the Church would be westward, redoubled their efforts to complete the grand temple upon which they had not ceased to work through all the storms of persecution.  This structure, solemnly dedicated to their God, they entered, and there received their anointings and their blessings; then they abandoned it to the desecration and self-condemning outrages of their foes.  For the mob’s decree had gone forth, that the “Mormons” must leave Illinois.  After a few sanguinary encounters, the leaders of the people acceded to the demands of their assailants, and agreed to leave early in the following spring; but the departure was not speedy enough to suit, and the lawless persecution was waged the more ruthlessly.

Soon the soil of Illinois was free from “Mormon” tread; Nauvoo was deserted, her 20,000 inhabitants expatriated.  Colonel Thomas L. Kane, a conspicuous figure at this stage of our country’s history, was traveling eastward at the time, and reached Nauvoo shortly after its evacuation.  In a lecture before the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, he related his experience in this sometime abode of the Saints.  I paraphrase a portion of his eloquent address.

Sighting the city from the western shore of the mighty Mississippi, as it nestled in the river’s encircling embrace, he crossed to its principal wharf, and, there to his surprise, found no soul to meet him.  The stillness that everywhere prevailed was painful, broken only by an occasional faint echo of boisterous shout or ribald song from a distance.  The town was in a dream, and the warrior trod lightly lest he wake it in affright, for he plainly saw that it had not slumbered long.  No grass grew in the pavement joints; recent footprints were still distinct in the dusty thoroughfares.  The visitor made his way unmolested into work-shops and smithies; tools lay as last used; on the carpenter’s bench was the unfinished frame, on the floor were the shavings fresh and odorous; the wood was piled in readiness before the baker’s oven; the blacksmith’s forge was cold, but the shop looked as though the occupant had just gone off for a holiday.  The gallant soldier entered gardens unchallenged by owner, human guard, or watchful dog; he might have supposed the people hidden or dead in their houses; but the doors were not fastened, and he entered to explore, there were fresh ashes on the hearth; no great accumulation of the dust of time was on floors or furniture; the awful quiet compelled him to tread a-tip-toe as if threading the aisles of an unoccupied cathedral.  He hastened to the graveyard, though surely the city had not been depopulated by pestilence.  No; there were a few stones newly set, some sods freshly turned in this sacred acre of God, but where can you find a cemetery of a living town with no such evidence of recent interment?  There were fields of heavy grain, the bounteous harvest rotting on the ground; there were orchards dropping their rich and rosy fruit to spoil beneath; not a hand to gather or save.